


We'll Be In Love By The Morning

by ohdearsansa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdearsansa/pseuds/ohdearsansa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started off as way to keep her family and friends from setting her up on any more dates, but now she's not quite sure <em>what's</em> going on. (Or, Sansa and Jon start "dating" and the lines keep getting crossed.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansapotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/gifts).



> This was supposed to be just a little drabble thing, but it quickly got out of hand. I hope you enjoy! Also, if you see any mistakes or anything, please forgive me. It's a little late over here, but I wanted to post this as soon as I could!

"C'mon, Sansa, just one _teensy_ little date. That's all I'm asking for," Margaery pleads, placing her hands over Sansa's.

"Listen, Marg, I appreciate the fact that you're concerned over my "non-existent" love life, as you so kindly put it, but I  _can't._  I'm sure Willas is a nice guy, really, but I've already told you, I  _have_ a boyfriend."

Maybe if Sansa said it enough times it'd come true. 

Margaery simply raises a smooth brow at her words. "Then why won't you tell me his name? Or, even better, let me _meet_ him?"

_Because he's not real and her love life really was non-existent._ "We're trying to keep it under wraps; and you _know_ how Robb gets." She loved her eldest brother dearly, but he could be such a pain in the ass when it came to her bringing boys home. No-one could ever hope to be good enough for either of Robb Stark's baby sisters.

Margaery sighs and removes her hands from Sansa's. "I  _suppose_  I'll give you that one; but don't think for a second that you can keep this from me forever!"

Sansa forces a light-hearted laugh and prays that Margaery never finds out the truth.

* * *

 Sansa calls Jon because she is officially out of ideas.

She had tried to think up ways to tell Margaery that she and her "boyfriend" had broken up, but then Marg would've wanted to know  _all_  the details, including who he was, and why they broke up, and then the lie would've come out because there was no way Sansa could come up with a story  _that_ elaborate.  She also couldn't handle all the embarrassment and shame she'd likely feel if it ever came to light that she had _made up_ her own boyfriend.

So, here she sits, tapping her feet and twirling her hair with one hand while she dials Jon Snow's number with the other. She has no idea how Jon will react to her call; they hardly ever talked when Robb or Arya weren't around, but who else is she going to turn to? Theon? Yeah, right. Maybe if she wanted to be _blackmailed_ for the rest of her life.

"Sansa? Is something wrong?" Of course Jon's first thought is of her well-being.

"No, everything's fine. Well, mostly. I just... wanted to see if you'd maybe like to meet up for lunch?" Sansa's about ready to walk into traffic to stop this conversation.  _Why_ did she think this was a good idea? Jon's not going to say yes-

"Sure, just-" Sansa hears Jon take in a breath and then his voice is back in her ear. "Are you  _sure_ everything's all right?" Of course Jon would double check. How was she going to rope someone as kind as Jon into the train wreck she'd gotten herself into?

"Just peachy, really. How does Maegor's at noon sound?" It's 11:30 right now, but Sansa lives only a few miles away and Jon lives in town.

"It's perfect. I'll see you there, then?" Jon still sounds confused, but he'll have to stay that way until Sansa can find a relatively _sane_ way to describe her plan.

"Yup. Bye, Jon." 

"Bye, Sansa."

It's still a long shot that Jon will say yes to her preposterous idea, but when Sansa walks out the door she can't help but feel like a little bit of the weight on her shoulders has been lifted off.

* * *

 She's just sitting down in the booth when she catches sight of Jon's curly black locks headed her way. Sansa wants to immediately dive under the table and hide. This was _such_ a bad idea. _Why_ would she even think something like this would work?

"Sansa?" Jon's concerned expression and his hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present.

"Uh, right. Sorry, Jon, I was just a bit... distracted." Maybe she should just bang her head on the table and give herself a concussion; that way she could forget all this ever happened.

Jon gives her a small smile, just the corners of his full mouth twitching up, and sits down. "No worries. But, ah, did you have any particular reason you wanted to see me?" There's the slightest hint of a flush on his cheeks and Sansa can literally feel a blush crawling up _her_ face, too. "Not that I mind, of course. It's just... unexpected."

He's right. They have never been as close as Jon was to Robb, or even to Arya. They definitely didn't call each other to have something like _lunch_.

"Funny you should ask, Jon,"

She starts, twisting her fingers together under the table.

But before Sansa can even figure out where to start, their waitress drops by for their orders. If she didn't man up soon her courage would be gone, and her dignity with it.

"I know I'm not not Robb or your mom, Sansa, but you can still tell me anything." Jon looks so worried for her, and something twinges in Sansa's chest at his expression. Maybe it _was_ a good idea to ask Jon, after all.

"No, no, I know! It's just... difficult to explain." And probably one of the stupidest things she's ever come up with. She's not living in some romantic comedy movie, these things don't just _happen_.

"Take your time, Sansa, I can stay as long as you'd like." He would, too, because that's the kind of person Jon Snow was: thoughtful and kind and caring. _Not to mention attractive_. She squashes that last thought down; because it was  _Jon_. Jon, who became best friends with Robb when they were ten, Jon who encouraged Arya to try out for field hockey when the school wouldn't let her join the football team, Jon who would help Sansa with her trig questions when she got frustrated because she  _despised_ math and for some reason Jon _loved_ it.

Sansa takes a deep breath and leans forward, words flying out of her mouth before she can stop them. "What would you say to going out with me?" 

_"What_ _?"_ Jon's expression almost causes Sansa to laugh but she reigns it in at the last second. This wouldn't go very well if he thought it was a joke.

Instead, she waves her hands in a panic. "No, not like for _real_. I just, I kinda told some people that I had a boyfriend when I actually _don't_ and now they all want to meet you? I mean, him. But it would be you if you said yes- and I'm going to stop talking now." _What a train wreck_.

Sansa's slowly sinking down in her seat, covering her face with her hands to hide her bright red blush when she hears Jon start to _laugh_. Sansa peeks through her fingers and she's shocked to find that Jon has his head thrown back and he's actually _shaking_ from laughter. She wants to get offended, but honestly, the whole idea is so far-fetched she can't help but join in.

Sansa pulls herself together first. "I'm being serious, though, Jon. I really do need your help. And it'd only be for a few weeks and I could even pay yo-"

Jon waves the last part away. "No, if you really want me to do it, I will. But can you tell me why you decided to ask _me_?"

It _was_ a decent question; given that she and Jon didn't hang around each other much if her other siblings weren't involved in some way or another.

"I know that you wouldn't try anything," Sansa wants to stop there, but for whatever reason she keeps going. "and you're the most trustworthy guy I know."

Jon gives her a full smile, eyes crinkling and everything, and that twinge is back as Sansa realizes just how _good_ Jon looks when he smiles.

* * *

 

Jon's place is only a five minute drive from the cafe, but Sansa manages to spend those short few minutes worrying incessantly about the terms of their new "relationship" (which, technically wasn't a  _new_  relationship because Sansa had told Marg that they've been dating for almost three months now, but it hurts her head to think like that). 

It takes Jon knocking on her car window to snap her out of her daze, and she grins sheepishly at him while stepping out of her car.

"Sorry, I'm just thinking about... everything." _And wondering how the hell we're going to pull this off._

"Ah, I see." The grin he throws back at her is almost a smirk. " _Ev_ _erything_ , huh?" 

Sansa just rolls her eyes and follows him inside; it wasn't quite spring yet, and winter was still stubbornly clinging to the air, leaving it crisp and cold. Thankfully, Jon's house was decently warm and Sansa carefully shrugged out of her jacket and shoes before making her way to the living room.

Jon's head poked through the kitchen doorway. "I know we just had lunch and all, but is there anything I can get you? A drink, maybe?"

"A water is fine, thanks." 

Sansa settled deeper into the warmth of the couch and took a look around the room. It was relatively nice and tidy compared to Robb and Theon's first shared apartment- then again, Jon was always more organized and neat compared to her brother and Theon and he wasn't currently rooming with anyone (or at least not to Sansa's admittedly limited knowledge he wasn't). But there didn't seem to be any items that pointed to another person living here, so she was pretty sure she was right. She felt more comfortable in Jon's apartment than she ever had at Joffery's immaculate house or Harry's pigsty of a bedroom.

Those thoughts were quickly put to rest. Joffery and Harry were no longer part of her life, thank goodness, and she needed to focus on her and Jon's new predicament. Speaking of Jon, he was making his way back to her and her seat on the couch. He hesitated for a split-second, brows furrowing, before settling in next to her. He raises an eyebrow and a mug, so Sansa takes the cup from his hand and lifts it up in a mock toast. "To our new relationship." She feels a slight bit of regret that the cup isn't filled with something a bit (a lot) stronger than water, but she pushes that thought aside. _  
_

Jon clinks his glass against hers. "May it be long and fruitful." Was she seeing things or did Jon totally just waggle his eyebrow? Maybe her cup  _did_ have a little extra kick in it.

Jon leans back into the couch and Sansa totally does  _not_ check out the way his sweater seems just the slightest bit too tight. Still, she looks away as soon as she feels Jon's eyes flicking to look at her and dutifully ignores his cheeky smile by taking a dainty sip of water, while tossing words back and forth in her mind until they start to make sense.

"So, how long has this been going on?" The hand not currently holding a mug reaches behind Jon's neck and pulls at a curl. Jon's tell-tell sign of nervousness.

"Right. Well, I told Marg that we'd been seeing each other for about three months now, so that's one thing taken care of." Which still left several things to discuss, none of which excited Sansa. 

"And, uh, how  _far_ have we gone?" Both of them are blushing like idiots and not the respectable adults they are, but what surprises Sansa most is that Jon hasn't gotten a bald patch from pulling on his hair like he's been doing since they started this conversation.  _And it's only just begun._

"Um. I mean, I haven't told Margaery  _all_ the dirty little details of our relationship, believe it or not, so we could just keep that to ourselves, right?" Sansa tries to keep her sex life out of Marg's gossip, because as much as she loves Margaery, she did have the tendency to let certain things slip to a certain someone's big brother when she was tipsy. Better to be safe than sorry, especially in a case as delicate as this one. Besides, it had been bad enough when Marg had let slip to Robb that Sansa had lost her virginity to Joffery (at a party, no less), and Sansa's not sure Robb could handle the thought of his best friend and precious little sister having sex without killing Jon or going insane. Possibly both.

Jon's still blushing as he looks away from Sansa's own red face and directs his gaze to a spot over her shoulder. "That sounds good to me."

Sansa nods a bit distractedly. What she needs right now is a pen and a piece of paper so they can keep track of all this stuff. She usually kept a pen somewhere in the depths of her purse, but she had left it in her car. She would go get one herself, but she's never been to Jon's house before and wouldn't know where to even look for one, and it would be rude to go wandering about in his house.

"Jon? Do you think you could fetch me a piece of paper and a pen? I think it would help us out a lot if we could write all this down." 

Jon nods and sets his mug on one of the coasters on the wooden coffee table before setting off in search for her requested items. He's back in a blink of an eye, scooting the paper and pen over to her and sitting closer to her on the couch, as well. Sansa shoots him a small smile and slides the pen cap off and onto the table before tossing him a wink. 

"So, how do you feel about PDA?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon prepare for their first _real_ test: the annual Summer Kick-Off Barbecue. (Or, Sansa and Jon spend more time than planned getting ready.)

Almost miraculously, Margaery both approves of her and Jon's newly revealed relationship  _and_ even gives them her blessing. The only thing nagging at the back of Sansa's brain is the gleam she had caught in Marg's hazel eyes; like she knew _exactly_  what was going on and couldn't wait to see it unfold. But most of all, Sansa is relieved. If Margaery hadn't of bought their lie, (That since Jon was Robb's best friend they had come to the decision that it was best to keep what was going on between them under wraps until they were certain that it was serious.) then she sincerely doubted that her parents or Jon's friends would have.  _Hell, they probably won't by it. Jon and I hardly ever had anything to do with each other, and now something like this happened? _

They've passed their first unofficial test (Jon called it a quiz), and now they can move on to their first  _real_ test: the annual Summer Kick-Off Barbecue. Every year, one family hosted the block wide party, somehow managing to fit the entire block into their respective back yards. Last year's barbecue was at the Baratheons', (Sansa knew from Myrcella that the kids had spent the following week afterward finding beer cans in the strangest of places), and of course with Sansa's luck, it was her family's turn to host the gathering. Normally, Sansa would be helping her mother set up the decorations or baking some last minute dessert. This year, however, Sansa is hiding out at Jon's house. She'd gotten ready as fast as she possibly could, picking out a denim dress and sliding a headband over her auburn hair before rushing out the door, wedges in hand and ignoring her mother's confused look. She had brought her make-up bag with her, planning to finish up the job in Jon's bathroom.

After knocking on the door several times  _and_ ringing the doorbell three times, Sansa caved in and used the spare key Jon had given her the last time she was here for when he didn't answer the door or wasn't home, and started cautiously making her way through Jon's bedroom. Which, for some reason, looked like a land mine had gone off- if land mines were made of clothes and not explosives, that is. From what Sansa could see, almost every single shirt Jon owned was thrown on the floor (save for one hanging from the ceiling fan), a pair of jeans was hanging off his T.V. while the others were all crumpled along with the shirts. The closet doors were gaping open and looked somehow foreboding. _Nonsense_ , she told herself as she walked slowly towards the closet. _It's just a closet for Pete's sake_. But a closet was designed to hold clothes, and in Jon's closet there were none. But no, that wasn't _quite_ right; there were a pair of old sneakers peeking out from under some dark grey sweatpants. So, by the loosest definition, Jon's closet was still a closest. Still that didn't why everything was strewn willy-nilly.  _What the actual fuc-?_

"Sansa!" 

"Ahhh!"  

"Sansa... why are you brandishing a hanger at me?" Jon was both shirtless and bemused.  _A very interesting combination, and a very interesting question. _Why  _was_ she waving a hanger at Jon ? Was she afraid of his muscles or something? She took a cursory look at Jon's unclothed chest. Nope, definitely nothing to be afraid of. Maybe in awe of? Wait, wasn't she supposed to be answering a question. Oh, right-

"I- You- You scared the  _shit_ out of me, you asshole!"  _  
_

" _Me?_ " Jon's voice and expression were both disbelieving. "Sansa,  _you're_ the one who came barging into my house without warning-"

" _You're_ the one who gave me a key!" She interrupts, pointing the hanger accusingly at him.

Jon narrows his eyes a bit and thrusts the discarded shirt in his hands at her. "For you to use if I didn't _answer_!"

"I _knocked_! I rang the stupid doorbell _three_ times! You were just too busy doing," Here she gestured around his trashed room with her hanger, "whatever  _this_ is!" 

Was that a hint of a blush on Jon's cheeks?

"I was having trouble trying to find what to wear to the barbecue." That was  _definitely_ a blush. _And_ his hand not holding the shirt was making it's way faithfully to the back of Jon's neck. Sansa wanted to tease him, but once more Jon Snow manages to make her heart twinge with the next words that come from his mouth. "I know you always look nice for everything and I wanted to try to be a little more, I don't know, your  _type_ , I guess- Mmmf-!" His words are cut off by Sansa's arms winding around his neck, hanger thrown carelessly on the floor.

"Oh,  _Jon!_ " How in the  _world_ did she manage to find someone like this? Or, better question, how in the world had she not noticed Jon was like this _before_ this fiasco started?

She can feel him hesitate for the slightest moment before his arms wrap around her waist. "Really, Sansa, it was nothing. I'm shit at picking out clothes anyway, so-"

Sansa steps away, arms still looped around his neck, and cranes her neck the smallest bit so she can meet Jon's grey eyes. "Which is why you have  _me_ , you're loving _girlfriend_ , to help you out, right?"

Jon looks shocked for a split second, but quickly grins at her. "You're absolutely right,  _darling_. Would you be so grateful as to help your poor, fashion challenged boyfriend find some decent clothes to wear?" He even pulls his lips into a little pout. Sansa curbs her desire to peck those ridiculously full lips with her own and steps completely away from Jon's embrace; determinedly ignoring the voice that sounds oddly like Margaery to worm her way back into his arms.

"Of _course_ I will, _dear_. But first, we should probably put your room back in order, don't you think?" Sansa glances pointedly at the practically empty closet and then at the floor, where almost all of Jon's clothes lie. He has a sheepish expression on his face, but nods in agreement. "I'll help you in a bit, I just have to finish one last thing." She smiles warmly at him, heading into his bathroom to finish her make up as originally planned when Jon's words from earlier resurface in her mind.

"Oh, and Jon?" He looks up at her, and Sansa tries valiantly to ignore her heart thumping like a jackhammer in her chest. "You look perfectly fine in your normal clothes." His mouth is open in surprise but Sansa quickly continues, afraid that if she let's him talk she won't be able to finish. "And just so you know, I don't have a type- at least, not anymore- but if I _did_ it would be you." She hurriedly slams the door on him; eager to hide herself away after baring her feelings, but she's not quick enough to miss Jon's dopey expression and his more than a little dazed smile.

* * *

It turns out that Jon is extremely particular about his clothing choices. Or, more accurately, about the _colors_ of his clothes. As she and Jon were placing clothes back onto their hangers and into his closet, Sansa was hard-pressed to find anything that _wasn't_ black or dark in color, save for a few blue or white shirts here and there.  _This is ridiculous._   _I know he likes dark colors, but this is getting absurd._ And, as nice as Jon looked in black, Sansa definitely did  _not_ want her boyfriend to die from heat stroke before they could tell her parents the (Sansa would say _good_ news, but she didn't think her parents- or Robb, for that matter- would call this news anything but shocking.) _interesting_ news. When she puts the last grey T-shirt on a hanger, she turns to the side, holding the garment up, eyebrows raised. "Really, Jon?"

Jon raises his shoulders in a "what can I say?" way and snatches the shirt from her hands. "I don't want to hear anything from  _you,_ Miss Everything-I-Owned-in-Seventh-Grade-Was-Some-Kind-of-Pink." The grin on his stupid face was positively wicked.

Sansa gasps. "Shut  _up!_ You guys  _pinky swore_ you'd never talk about my seventh grade year!" It was true. After realizing the error of her ways, Sansa had forced Jon, Robb, Theon _and_ Arya to never speak a single word about that dreadful year for fear of Sansa revealing one of _their_ secrets to their respective parents. Sansa still loved the color pink, of course, but she had learned her lesson and was careful too never wear  _too_ much of any one color.

"Did I?" Jon fixes his expression to one of false thoughtfulness. "It's been  _such_ a long time since then; I think you're remembering it wrong." 

It's Sansa's turn to flash Jon a wicked smile. "Oh,  _really?_  Does that mean you and Robb and Theon  _didn't_ have a massive party when Mom and Dad were off to visit Uncle Benjen? I _think_ it was the one where Robb smashed one of Mom's precious fish figurines by lobbing a football at it, Theon brought some girl up to  _their_ bedroom where she proceeded to throw up all over their _brand-new_ comforter, and  _you_ decided it was a good idea to let Arya get smashing drunk. Or is my memory failing me?"  _  
_

Jon face pales and he loses all hints of a smirk. "You wouldn't."

Sansa just raises an eyebrow. 

Jon lets out a long sigh before sticking a hand out. "You  _would_. Fine, truce?"

She stares at his hand for a while, letting him sweat, before placing her own in his and giving it a shake. "Truce."

His expression is one of pure relief. "Thank goodness." Jon rises up to his feet, offering Sansa a hand up which she takes gratefully. They had been sitting on his floor for about half an hour, and her legs had lost some of their feeling.

"Well, I suppose we should get this show on the road, huh?" Jon looks anxious and excited all at once.

"Yes, let's." Sansa's expression matches Jon's, and she can't help but tangle her fingers with his; searching for reassurance and something else- something she isn't quite sure she wants to name just yet. He doesn't seem to mind; in fact, Jon squeezes her hand gently and curls his other arm around her shoulder, placing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

They are halfway to his truck, still hand-in-hand, before Sansa realizes that Jon _still_ doesn't have a shirt on and frantically pulls him back inside the house, disregarding Jon's shouts that they're going to be late if they don't leave, _now_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, but I promise the next one will be coming out soon! Enjoy, and let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Catelyn is upset, Robb is well, Robb, and Ned is surprisingly okay about it all. (Or, Sansa and Jon share the good news.)

 

They arrive with less than three minutes to spare. 

Sansa keeps Jon's hand firmly clasped in her own as they make their way hurriedly through the door; hissing quietly at each other until they reach the living room where Bran and Rickon are staring intently at an action movie flashing across the screen. Rickon stares at them unconcernedly before returning his gaze to the movie, but Bran takes in their appearance wide-eyed and looking more than a little afraid; and Sansa can tell why. Her hair is a mess, headband barely holding back her fly-aways, while her wedges are dangling from her fingers, ready to drop at a moment's notice; and don't even get her  _started_  on the state of her dress.-  _w_ _rinkled_  was putting it nicely. If Sansa's hair was a mess, then Jon's was an utter disaster- black curls sticking up at odd angles and laying flat in other spots. His shirt, a navy button down hastily thrown on as they scrambled to leave Jon's house in time, while buttoned incorrectly, was nowhere near as wrinkled as Sansa's dress. Most incriminating, however, was the tiniest smudge of pink lipstick near the corner of his mouth where Sansa had pressed the smallest of kisses to thank Jon for putting up with her antics. All three of them are caught in a baffled silence, none of them willing to break it until Catelyn Stark walks in from the kitchen, apron hanging over her arm.

"Bran? Rickon? Have either of you heard from Jon or San-?" Her question is cut off abruptly as she catches sight of her daughter and Jon. At first, she looks relieved, if not a bit put-out at their almost late arrival, but then her eyes zero in on their still-clasped hands and rather disheveled appearance. And though Catelyn was not a Stark by blood, no-one would have thought otherwise had they seen the iciness in her eyes.

Sansa feels the heavy feeling of dread settle in the pit of her stomach and spots Jon swallowing deeply from the corner of her eye. Her mind churns frantically, trying to find the words to  _explain_ , but absolutely nothing comes up. They're stuck in another silence, this one cold and foreboding instead of awkward, until Robb walks in. Jon curses under his breath and tightens his grip on Sansa's hand. She's struck by the oddest desire to laugh at their situation, though it's extremely far from humorous.  _At least it can't get any_ \- And here comes her father, carrying a stack of knives.  _Worse._ The knives, at least, are plastic, but Sansa would wager that they could still do significant damage, given the chance.

Robb is rather oblivious to the atmosphere of the room, instead focusing his attention on the movie that Bran and Rickon had been watching, but Ned catches on terribly quickly. His grey eyes, so like Jon's, follow his wife's glare to their entwined hands and unkempt appearance. Surprise flashes over his eyes briefly, but he only tells Bran and Rickon to go and set the tables outside, and that's when Robb finally catches on. He turns, and, _of course_ , his eyes fall straight to Jon and Sansa's hands. 

Sansa lets out a strangled, high-pitched whimper from the back of her throat, and Jon curses louder than before, his other hand automatically springing up to the back of his neck. It was hard to tell who was clutching whose hand hardest, but Sansa thought it to be pretty even. Robb's eyes glint dangerously while Catelyn's mouth opens, presumably to ask what  _exactly_ was happening when they're quite literally saved by the bell. Sansa vaguely hears Arya race to answer the door and lead the guests outside. Her father places a hand on her mother's shoulders, turning her towards him, and whispers a few words into her ear. Catelyn nods stiffly and follows Arya out back to greet the guests. Ned simply looks at Robb who nods as tersely as his mother and grabs the knives from Ned's hands and exits into the kitchen.

He takes in her and Jon's appearance once more before sighing heavily, looking for all the world a harried mother. "I would suggest changing into er,  _neater_ , clothes, dear." Sansa looks down at her dress before nodding in silent agreement. She had planned on changing dresses as soon as they had arrived, but unfortunate events had hindered her plans. "As for you, Jon," Jon flinches as if punched, but Ned continues. "You have a little something, right  _there_." Ned smiles the slightest bit while pointing to the corner of his lip. That strange whimper that Sansa had emitted earlier finds its way back out of her throat and Jon somehow manages to pale and blush at the same time, looking everywhere but Sansa or her father.

Ned follows his son's path into the kitchen, leaving a warning over his shoulder. "And don't think we won't be discussing this after the damned barbeque is over."

Sansa's whine gets even higher in pitch and Jon lets out a groan of his own before dejectedly pulling Sansa up the stairs and into her room where they can have a few moments of peace before the inevitable happens.

* * *

 

Sansa flops face-down onto her bed while Jon quietly shuts the door behind them. She tosses the wedges and hears them slam against the wall, but she's too distressed to care about the imprints they may leave at the moment.

"Well, that could've gone better." She hears Jon mutter before her bed dips and she feels Jon lie next to her. Sansa kicks feebly at his shins but Jon traps her foot between his calves and Sansa decides she is simply too tired to try and cause Jon any more harm, instead choosing to roll over and lie on her back, foot still captured in Jon's legs. "I think I'd prefer a bomb going off, so long as I don't have to go downstairs anytime soon." She wishes she were kidding. At least the bomb could do her in before her mother did.

Jon lets out a noise of agreement. "I'd sooner have a bomb get ahold of me before Robb or your dad." Sansa can't help but chuckle at the mental images of Robb threatening Jon with one of the plastic knives he had earlier. She feels a sharp poke on her side and maybe she's not  _too_ tired because she slaps his hand before it manages to make its way back to his side of the bed. "Ow!" Jon glares at her, though Sansa can see no real heat behind his eyes.

Sansa sniffs. "Serves you right for trying to aggravate someone when they're upset." 

Jon shakes his head in disbelief and slides his "uninjured" hand under Sansa. She totally does _not_ let out a squeal of surprise as Jon's arms push her up into a sitting position. "C'mon, now. We can't stay up here forever." Jon keeps his arm around her middle and Sansa huffs as she places her head on his shoulder. Jon smells incredibly good, and his shoulder makes quite a nice pillow, but sadly, he's right. They  _can't_ stay up here forever, no matter how much she wishes to.

"I _know_ that. But-" She gropes for some words, any words, to explain, but once more, they fail her. Jon understands, though, and holds her just a bit tighter to him. She lets herself remain in his embrace for a moment longer before sitting up.

"Well, go on, turn around." Jon looks confused. "So I can get changed?" He flushes and does as she suggests. She can see him fiddling with the front of his shirt, and is confused for a moment herself before she remembers that his buttons had been done up incorrectly and can only assume that he's fixing them.

Sansa turns towards her closet, shifting clothes here and there until she comes across a pretty floral patterned dress. It'll go well enough with her wedges at the least, so Sansa decides to go for it. She knows that Jon won't turn around until her say-so, so she slides the wrinkly denim dress off without delay and pulls the floral dress up and over her head. Her hair is too messy to leave down, she concludes, so she twists her hair into a simple braid and ties it off. Thankfully, her wedges did  _not_  leave a mark on her pale pink walls, and Sansa feels quite relieved when she pulls them on. She walks over to Jon and rests her head once more on his shoulder. The barbeque hadn't even started, yet Sansa still feels drained of energy. Jon grasps her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze while Sansa lets loose a little sigh. Their last few minutes of relative peace were about to end.

Jon gives her an encouraging sort of grimace, if grimaces could be encouraging, and she gives him an expression that probably matches due to the teasing smile that replaces his previous expression. Jon pulls open the door with one hand, leaving the other in Sansa's grasp.

"Let's get this show on the road." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry for the long wait! My school started last Thursday and I've been pretty busy since then. I'll try and update every Monday, but it may be a little later in the week before it's out. Thanks for sticking with me! I'm also over on [tumblr](http://www.pet-ra.tumblr.com) if you wanna chat or fangirl over anything and everything!

**Author's Note:**

> And so it ends... (Just kidding.) There will be at least another two chapters after this one, so stay tuned! Another little side note: Sansa's 22 and Jon's 25 or so.


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